


He wears short shorts, I wear t-shirts...

by faeryn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also some fluff, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Cas is kind of an asshole, Castiel and Dean Winchester Being Idiots, Cheerleader!Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pan!Cas, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking!Castiel, Tattooed!Cas, Tutor!Dean, comfortably bi Dean, glasses!dean, its glorious, punk!Cas, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4246017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeryn/pseuds/faeryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(he's cheer captain and I'm smoking behind the bleachers.)</p><p>In which Castiel is a special snowflake and Dean's not having a bar of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He wears short shorts, I wear t-shirts...

**Author's Note:**

> (Prompt taken from a Tumblr post suggesting that the preppy cheerleader be the 'nice' character, and the alternative kid be the 'asshole' character, I can't remember the exact wording, and I wrote this without it to hand :P) 
> 
> This was a 3k smashfic that got out of hand... As most of my 'short' fics do... >_>;;
> 
> I couldn't have done this without the help of my majestic betas, [FoxInDocs](http://foxindocs.tumblr.com) and [cuddle-me-carl](http://cuddle-me-carl.tumblr.com) \- your help was invaluable, and reading your reactions on the Google Doc was hilarious and provided hours of entertainment ;)
> 
> If you find something you'd like me to tag for (firstly, I apologise!!!) then let me know and I'll add it!
> 
> SPECIAL THANKS: Alynissa~
> 
> BROUGHT TO YOU BY: Pinkish~

' _There he is. Dean_ butter-wouldn't-melt _Winchester. With his dashing good looks and his_ charm.'

Castiel glares daggers at the cheer squad captain as he makes his way through the cafeteria, balancing his tray on one hand and with his backpack dangling from the other.

' _Look at him, all self-assured and popular. Fucking asshole_.'

Dean's completely oblivious of Castiel's loathing, of course. He doesn't even glance in the direction of the blue-haired kid with the facial piercings and barely-covered tattoos that the school had tried unsuccessfully to suspend him for. Castiel doesn't even register on the scale for the jocks and the cheers, they don't even know he exists let alone how much he detests each and every one of them, especially Dean Winchester.

It's not that Dean is a bully, even. Castiel could at least justify his hatred if he were. No, it's actually the exact opposite. Dean is _perfect_. He's kind and compassionate. He joins in almost every rally, from Animal Rights to LGBTQA+ and beyond, and he shouts just as loudly and just as passionately as every other attendee. He uses his status to encourage the other students to think outside the box, and to think of one another instead of only themselves. He knows every opposing team member by name, and either congratulates them on a win, or commiserates with them when his team beat them - and it never comes across as patronizing or insincere, the guy is genuine to the bone. And for some reason all of that just _infuriates_ Castiel.

They are almost as different as it is possible to be while remaining the same species. Castiel is grumpy and almost wholly lacking in a normal sense of humor. He's rebellious to the extreme, but not in the quiet, tide-shifting way Dean can be, working within the system to exact change in a positive and contagious manner. Castiel's rebellion is explosive and just as destructive as Dean's is constructive. He shows how different, how _special_ he is in the most ostentatious manner, from his hair colour to his attire; one day he'll sport magenta hair and black, torn, jeans and a band shirt, held together with safety pins and half-hearted attempts at sewing, while the next his hair will be jet black but his clothing as many shades of the rainbow as he can find and put upon his person. Whatever he deems to be the most obnoxious for that week is what he goes with, regardless of anything else.

Yet somehow Castiel knows that Dean wouldn't judge him, wouldn't care how he looks. And that only makes him angrier. His best friend Gabriel has heard him spout his vitriol ad nauseum and likes to remind him that they, too, aren't exactly two peas in a pod; the quirky goofball class clown with a penchant for sweet stuff, and the dark, brooding goth-punk-alternative social pariah, yet somehow they manage to maintain a decent friendship. After the first expletive-filled tirade when he suggested Castiel get to know Dean and he might just find another unlikely friend, Gabriel gave up trying to dissuade his friend's opinion on the cheerleader, and instead endured his opinions with good-natured silence.

"Urgh, he's so disgusting," Castiel growls, peeling a satsuma with more vigor than was truly necessary and unable to tear his eyes away from his sworn enemy.

"Cassie," Gabriel sighs wearily, "if you hate the guy so much, maybe you should just ignore him. You spend so much time staring at him people are going to start thinking you're in love with him."

Castiel turns a fetching shade of puce as he chokes on a segment of orange and grabs Gabriel's soda to wash it down with before fixing his friend with a frosty gaze.

"I am _not_ in love with him, I _hate him_ ," he hisses once he has regained his composure, blue eyes flashing with anger.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Gabriel grins, popping a piece of hard candy into his mouth and waggling his eyebrows suggestively at his friend.

He can almost see steam coming out of Castiel's ears before his friend shoves his tray at him, upending his soda into his lap in the process, and stalks from the cafeteria with the jangling of chains. A few people looked up at the commotion, but quickly go back to their own lunches when they realize it's only the punk kid fighting with his only friend _again_. It was a weekly occurrence in the school and few people paid it any mind any more, which only served to infuriate Castiel's martyr complex further.

  


"Mr. Shurley, I don't think you quite understand the situation you are in," Principal Joshua says sternly, while Castiel lets his gaze wander around the room, giving the air of nonchalance with every fiber of his being.

"I don't think I care," he retorts, letting his attention flick to the Principal to see what effect his words have. He sees the man bristle slightly before composing himself, and he can't help but smirk.

"Castiel, you are-- _were_ \--one of our most promising students as a Freshman. I'm not sure what happened to that earnest boy whose involvement in class was, and I quote several teachers here, 'a breath of fresh air.' Now, we are willing to overlook some of your more recent transgressions in the hope of returning you to the path you were once on, but we require at least a _pretense_ of effort on your part. Otherwise, we will have no choice but to, well to expel you."

That gets Castiel's attention, and he sits forward, suddenly alert. Up to now his father’s more than generous donations to the school have been enough to keep him out of trouble and to help the faculty overlook his ostentatious dress and the totally-against-regulations facial piercings, Castiel’s blood runs cold at how far he’s pushed his luck if they’re threatening expulsion just to raise his grades.

"You can't do that," his voice is small with unspoken fear; as a trust fund kid he knows he'll never really _have_ to work a proper job, but one of the prerequisites of his access to his trust fund is completion of basic and further education. If he is expelled from school he won't be able to get into college, and he doesn't like the idea of repeating a year.

"I can, and I will have no choice but to do so if you do. Not. _Listen."_ The Principal leans forward across his desk and looks intensely at Castiel. "I have already discussed the matter with your father, and he has agreed that a... _guiding influence_ is required. While Mr Loekie is clearly able to keep you at least in attendance your father and I feel that another hand is necessary to get you to apply yourself in class, in addition to assisting you out of school hours as a tutor."

Castiel feels a chill run across his body as he realizes who the Principal and his father are most likely to consider the best candidate for this role.

"No," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, "you _can't."_

 _"_ I have," Principal Joshua says sternly, and pushes the buzzer on his desk to signal to his secretary to send in the student waiting outside.

Reluctantly, Castiel turns in his chair as the door opens to see an all-too familiar figure step inside, red varsity jacket unzipped and revealing a Metallica t-shirt, of all things. Light brown hair sticks up above sparkling jade eyes and he feels his stomach plummet as those pink lips part in a bright, disgustingly sincere smile.

"Mr. Winchester," the Principal waves him into the room and indicates he should take the seat beside Castiel's. Quickly obedient, Dean sits down and Castiel feels bile rise in his throat at the disgusting display. He wants to get up, to scream and shout, to throw things, but he can't risk losing everything. If he loses his schooling _and_ his trust fund he'll never be able to find a halfway decent job and he could never live it down if he ended up having to rely on _Gabriel_ to get by.

"Hey Cas," Dean greets him, and Castiel realises he's missed a portion of conversation, since they're both looking at him expectantly.

 _"Castiel,"_ he corrects icily, but Dean only smiles and nods.

"Alright, Castiel. Principal Gardiner wants me to stick to you like glue for a couple weeks, that cool with you?"

Castiel can't hold back a snort, but Joshua's stern look prevents him from following that up with a scathing comment.

"Fine." He's sullen, but grudgingly accepts that this is what he has to do for now. And once he's out of range of the Principal he can always make life so unbearable for Dean that the guy decides he doesn't want to continue with this... whatever-it-is.

"Great!" Dean hops up out of his seat, and Castiel reluctantly rises as well. "I'll give you a ride home, and we can hash things out in the car. Sound good?" He's beaming, like he's been given some kind of long-desired gift instead of being lumped with a reluctant student.

"Whatever," Castiel replies, "may we be excused?" His words are directed at the Principal, but the coolness in them is all for Dean.

"You may. I'll check in with you both in a week. And Castiel?" He calls Castiel back from the doorway, where he was ready to flee. "I trust there will be no bad behavior on your part to try and end this arrangement prematurely?"

Castiel shakes his head, too angry to formulate words, and at a gracious nod from Principal Gardiner he flees the room, grabbing his backpack from the locker where students are to put their belongings while in the Principal's office. His secretary rolls her eyes at his antics, more than used to seeing students storm from the office this way, but Dean only follows with his hands pushed in his pockets and a faint look of amusement on his face.

"I don't believe this, _I don't believe this_ ," Castiel mutters, not slowing down or stopping to wait for Dean until he bursts from the fire doors at the end of the corridor. "Of all _fucking_ people, _argh."_ He digs through his pockets until he finds a half-crushed pack of smokes and his lighter, lighting up without a care for the school's no smoking rules. Finally he's stopped and Dean catches up to him easily, raising one eyebrow at the cigarette but saying nothing.

"C'mon man, my car's this way, it's the-" he begins, turning towards the car park.

"The hulking black monstrosity, I know, _everyone_ knows. You can't miss the damn thing," Castiel spits, reluctantly following Dean. For the first time, he sees an emotion other than good nature in the set of the man's shoulders.

"Hey man, I get the impression you don't like me for some reason, and that's cool, but don't insult my baby like that," Dean chides him, and Castiel immediately feels like a small child who has said something deliberately to hurt a beloved friend or family member, and regrets it. He pushes that feeling aside and snorts.

"Whatever."

They reach the car, and Dean turns to lean on the driver's side door. Castiel moves to go around to the passenger side, but Dean holds a hand out, pushing on his chest to stop his forward motion and tutting with a sharp shake of his head.

"No way man, finish that before you get in," he indicates the half-burned cigarette hanging from Castiel's lips.

Castiel rolls his eyes and turns his head, spitting the butt out and watching it roll away. "Okay?"

Dean shakes his head again but releases Castiel, unlocking the door and leaning over to let him in the other side. Then, as Castiel gets in the vehicle, he walks over to the still smoking butt and grinds it out with the toe of his boot before picking it up and tossing it in the nearby trash can. He gets into the car and fires up the engine without so much as an admonishment, but once again Castiel feels chastened.

"So, I think our timetables pretty much line up, which is probably why Joshua asked me to help you out," Dean starts as they pull out of the car park, returning to his earlier easy conversation and relaxed attitude. "We have the same free periods, so I reckon we can probably spend most of those studying whatever you're struggling on, or just getting on with homework or whatever if you're confident. And a couple times a week I'll come over to your house or you can come over to mine and we'll work on anything else you want, even if it's just hanging out." He flashes Castiel with another of those dazzling smiles, and Castiel feels completely off-balance. The emotional whiplash he's getting just from being in Dean's presence is profound, and he can't help but wonder if he'll ever understand the guy.

"I don't want to 'hang out,'" he snarks, making air quotes with his fingers, which elicits a mirthful snort from Dean, "I don't even want to study with you. I'm being forced into this as much as you are, so don't go thinking we're suddenly bffs, Winchester."

Dean chuckles and shakes his head. "Alright Shurley," he teasingly uses Castiel's last name, "we don't have to be buddies if you don't want. But we still gotta do all that other stuff, so you better get used to having me around, okay?"

"As long as you don't bring all your mindless, tittering lackeys," Castiel growls, staring out of the window at the familiar landscape passing by. "Hey," he says suddenly, turning back to Dean, "how d'you know where I live?"

Dean only smiles and shrugs, offering no answer, which only serves to infuriate Castiel further.

They pull up outside his house without any more conversation, a fact Castiel is both happy and irritated about. Surely Dean should have more to say about the situation, but instead he's just being quietly smug. Castiel wants to smack the look off his stupid face, and it takes all of his self control to resist and just climb out of the car, walking around to the other side to get to his house.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow morning at 8, okay?" Dean gives him no time to argue, revving the engine loudly and roaring off down the street.

Castiel tsks loudly and stalks into the house, slamming the door behind him.

 _"CHUCK!"_ He screams, having never quite gotten into the habit of calling his father 'dad.'

"Good afternoon Castiel," Chuck answers, standing in the doorway in a bedraggled bathrobe over perfectly decent outdoor clothes; for some reason Castiel could never fathom Chuck always said that the bathrobe helped him write. "I take it you've been speaking to Principal Gardiner?"

"How could you, _how could you?!_ " Castiel spits, and if he had been a cat he would be fluffed up to full size. As it was his expertly spiked hair gave him that kind of look already, and Chuck hid a smile at his son's righteous indignation.

"Castiel, you're lucky Joshua is an old family friend. Any other student behaving the way you do wouldn't be given the same opportunities you have. This is his last ditch attempt at preventing you from flunking high school, son, and it's in your best interests to make the best of it." Chuck's usual mild manner never managed to calm Castiel down; since his mother's death Chuck had only seen her fire come out in their child more and more as the years went by, and he saw it in him now - the spark of rage at other people acting on his behalf, even if it was for his own good.

"But _Dean fucking Winchester?_ " Castiel is near apoplectic as he storms around the room, chains clinking as he waves his arms wildly. "You could have chosen anyone in school, _anyone_ and they would have been better than that asshole."

"In real life you can't simply avoid people you dislike, Castiel," Chuck answers calmly, "and it'll do you good to get some practice learning to tolerate and be civil to people you don't get along with."

Castiel groans and rolls his eyes before rubbing his face in exasperation.

"I just can't talk to you, you have an answer for everything," he growls before storming off up the stairs, his backpack clattering against the railings as he goes.

"Open the window if you're smoking!" Chuck calls up before retiring back into his study to continue working on his manuscript.

Castiel briefly considers defying even this most basic request, but decides in the end that a room full of choking smoke won't hurt anyone but himself, and opens the window. He sits with his legs dangling from the window ledge and chain smokes as he tries to think of a way out of his predicament. He can't stop his thoughts from lingering on Dean chuckling in the car, his green eyes sparkling with mirth and his hands tanned and strong on the steering wheel.

' _Laughing at me,'_ he thinks, and hates Dean even more.

  


He's smoking a leisurely morning cigarette over a cup of coffee the next day when a familiar rumble interrupts his hazy daydreaming, and his mood sours almost immediately. He feels even more irritation when he hears the engine cut out and the creak of the car door opening. Castiel isn't sure if Dean coming up to knock on the door is more or less annoying than him just honking the horn from outside, but he's pretty sure he'd be in a foul mood either way. Before Dean can reach the door to rap on it, Castiel yanks it open and almost gets a face full of Dean Winchester's meaty fist.

" _Jesus_ Cas, I nearly knocked you on your ass!" Dean exclaims, his arms wheeling wildly as he tries to regain his lost balance.

"It's _Castiel_ , and I'd love to see you try," Castiel hisses, stalking past Dean and flicking his cigarette butt into the bushes at the front of the house. Chuck would fish them all out next time he weeded, he figures, and decides he doesn't care.

"Whatever man," Dean replies with a dejected air, shaking his head and trotting after him. Today he's wearing jeans--again--and an open collared shirt that on anyone else would have Castiel drooling, but on Dean just irritates him further.

' _Fucking Dean Winchester and his perfect fucking genes, how come such an asshole gets to be so fucking pretty. He's so disgusting.'_

They get into the car without any further words and Dean pulls away smoothly. Castiel raps his fingers on the smooth leather of the seat for a while, then leans forward and starts to fiddle with the radio.

"Hey!" Dean pulls over and hits the brakes sharply, almost sending Castiel through the windshield.

"What the fuck?" Castiel growls, turning to Dean with fire in his eyes. He feels that strange sense of chastisement once again when he sees Dean looking back at him with equal fervor, and tries not to visibly shrink back under the other man's gaze.

"You can treat me like shit. You can behave like a dick. But you do. Not. _Ever_. Mess with my car. Capisce?" Dean's knuckles are white on the steering wheel and he looks like he's trying hard not to punch Castiel.

"Fine, fine, whatever," he answers, trying for nonchalant, "I won't touch your precious car. I didn't even want you to pick me up anyway, but whatever."

Dean mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like _ungrateful prick_ , but drives on without saying anything more. Castiel decides not to try and pick any more of a fight for now; he wants Dean to leave the arrangement voluntarily, but doesn't want it to seem too obvious that he's trying for that in case Dean's stubborn and digs his heels in out of spite. They make it to school without any further mishaps, and Castiel gracefully climbs out of the car, closing the door in a pantomime of carefulness, bowing to the vehicle and thanking it for the "not completely intolerable" ride to school.

"I'll see you after homeroom," Dean says, his anger quelled but not completely extinguished, "it's your free period so we'll meet outside the library. Don't be late."

With that, he's slung his backpack over his shoulder and is off to his gang of friends, waiting nearby for their Glorious Leader to arrive. Castiel can hear a few of them question Dean about his passenger, but Dean waves off the questions with good humor and they don't ask any further. He stamps down the small feeling of gratitude that begins to rise at Dean's choice not to humiliate Castiel by spreading his predicament all over school - he's sure that everyone will know by day's end, Dean probably just didn't want to start gossiping with Castiel so close by.

Homeroom is over all too soon, and Castiel reluctantly trudges over to the library to wait for Dean. To his surprise, Dean shows up alone and looking considerably more calm than he had before.

"Hey man, I'm sorry I lost my shit at you in the car," he sounds sheepish, and Castiel tilts his head to one side, confused. "It was my dad's car, and I'm kinda protective of her, but that's no reason to yell at you for wanting to put some music on. Thanks for showing up, anyway, I thought you might bail after that."

"I hardly have a choice," Castiel says, then bites back the next icy part of his retort; Dean had apologized, he should at least attempt to be courteous in return. "But I appreciate your words nonetheless."

Dean beams widely and they enter the library together, finding a quiet table in the back where they can work undisturbed.

"So, Gardiner said that your attendance is fine, but your work either doesn't get done or is... what did he say... uhm..." Dean looks sheepish as he shuffles papers and books around, and pulls a glasses case from his bag. "Not up to snuff anyway, was the gist. I get the impression he thinks you could do better if you, yanno, applied yourself more. So. How can we get you to care about school, Castiel?"

Castiel watches Dean open the glasses case and perch a pair of spectacles on his nose;  
they're not exactly fashionable, though they're not exactly old fashioned either, and Castiel gets the impression Dean has been wearing them for some years, even though he has never seen him wear them at school before. He realises he's staring, and quickly looks down at his books.

"Why does it matter if I care or not? All I have to do is enough to pass, right? So let's do that." His tone is sullen, but he can't bring himself to put more effort into it. He has to work with his sworn nemesis to keep from being thrown out of school, and it's humiliating. What's more, the guy wants him to _care_ about his work, instead of just getting it done, and he's just not sure he can muster up enough enthusiasm to even _fake_ caring, let alone _actually_ caring.

Dean makes a clicking sound with his tongue and flips open the first book he has to hand, turning the pages thoughtfully before looking back up at Castiel.

"It doesn't matter, really. Not to Gardiner or the teachers, anyway. But if we're gonna do this you'll find it way easier and less of a chore if you enjoy it. Plus, it'll be done faster, and since you hate me and all, I figure you'd want to get it over with. So, Castiel, what do you care about?"

Castiel frowns, taking a moment to think. Instinctively he wants to deny that he hates Dean, but that would be an outright lie and in any case he isn't sure Dean would believe him. But nobody has asked him so blatantly what he cares about before, and he can't think of anything off hand.

"I don't know," he confesses quietly, and Dean only smiles. "What do _you_ care about?"

"My brother, my car, pie, LGBT and women's rights, the internal combustion engine, stupid blue haired stubborn assholes," Dean answers quickly, "not necessarily in that order," he finishes with a playful grin, and Castiel can feel his face flush red at the final thing on the list.

Dean doesn't care about him, he knows, not really in any case, but to throw it out there like that is infuriatingly bold, and just another thing to add to his List Of Things I Hate About Dean Winchester. He takes another moment to think, stretching out his arms and feeling his back pop satisfyingly. His sleeve pulls up his arm and he sees one of his tattoos peeking through, and he can't help but smile at the thought of the day he got it.

"Tattoos. I care about my tattoos."

"That's a great start!" Dean says, with way more enthusiasm than Castiel really thinks is necessary. "Alright, how many do you have?" Castiel does a quick calculation in his head.

"Fifteen, although the final one isn't finished yet."

"Why not?" Dean leans forward, seemingly genuinely interested.

"It's a big one that covers my whole back, so it has to be done in a few sessions. Chuck's had the car lately, so I haven't been able to get the the parlor to get it finished up." He feels a flash of irritation towards his father, since the reclusive man rarely leaves the house yet has insisted Castiel leave the car there for him for the last few months. The tattoo parlor he prefers is all the way out in the city, and he doesn't enjoy the idea of having to travel back on the bus with his back raw and stinging from the fresh ink work.

"Alright," Dean leans back and laces his fingers together behind his head, tilting back slightly on his chair in total relaxation. "So I guess if you care about them, there's a story behind each one, right?" Castiel nods. "What would you say if I said I have a tattoo as well, and there's a story behind it too?"

"You do?" Castiel frowns again and tilts his head to one side. "Where?"

Dean wagged a finger at him and tutted. "I'll tell you, when we get you through these exercises," he promises.

"That's hardly fair, everybody knows I have tattoos," Castiel's tone takes on a wheedling quality.

"And nobody knows I have one, well hardly anyone anyway, so you can count yourself in the lucky few. Who knows? If you do really well, maybe I'll offer to take you to your tattoo artist in my baby, if you stop insulting her, so you don't have to worry about your dad having the car."

Dean's face is insufferably smug, and Castiel knows he's hooked - the chance to get his tattoo finally finished just too good to pass up.

"Deal. What should we start with?"

Dean drops back to the floor with a whoop, eliciting a loud shushing from a nearby librarian, and tugs one of the books out of the pile.

"Looks like your weakest subject is Economics, so we'll start there."

They flip open one of the books, and Castiel reluctantly pushes over his notes and what little of his assignments he had bothered to complete. Dean scrutinizes them with a critical eye, nodding and shaking his head at intervals.

"So your notes look good, I think you mostly get it in an objective sense, you just seem to have a hard time connecting the theory to the practical application. Which makes sense, I guess." Dean's words are said without judgement, but Castiel bristles anyway.

"What, because I'm a trust fund kid? It's hardly my fault Chuck wrote a series of truly terrible books and that a bunch of people suck them up like they're written by God himself. Fuck you Winchester."

With a sigh, Dean takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, looking exasperated.

"That... wasn't what I meant, Castiel. Why are you so damn touchy all the time anyway? No, wait, don't answer that, I don't want to know..." He looks weary already, and Castiel feels a small surge of triumph - maybe it wasn't going to be _completely_ impossible to drive Dean away.

Dean flicks through the notes again, and then sets Castiel a series of exercises to work on before pulling his own notes from his bag and beginning on his own homework. It surprises Castiel, since he would have thought a goody-two-shoes like Dean would do all his homework the day it's set, and he feels a tiny flicker of guilt at Dean having to give up some of his own study time for him, but once again he stamps it down. It's not like he _wants_ the help, after all, so it's Dean's own fault.

They work in mostly silence until the bell rings to signify the end of their free period, and pack up with barely a few words exchanged. Castiel hands Dean his exercises for the other guy to look over and they agree to meet again after school, reluctantly on Castiel's part.

  


"Wow, what's eating you, cupcake?" Gabe asks Castiel at lunch when the blue-haired boy drops into his seat at their table with an angry huff.

"My life sucks," he answers, biting into his PB&J with vehement disregard for its welfare.

"Well, not that I don't wholeheartedly agree with the partaking of such a delicious victual, but dude... don't take it out on your sandwich." Gabe eyes the food with envy, forever looking to increase his sugar intake for the day.

"Fuck the sandwich," Castiel growls.

"Doooon't fuck the sandwich, _eat_ the sandwich. It's good for you."

Castiel makes a noise of annoyance in his throat and polishes off the rest of the soft centre of the bread, leaving most of the crusts behind. Gabriel makes a strangled noise at the wastage, but knows better than to needle Castiel when he's in this kind of a mood.

"Gardiner's assigned me a fucking tutor, because he thinks I can do better if I _apply_ myself. And, because apparently God fucking hates me, you can guess who he assigned," Castiel glares at his lunch like it has personally offended him, and Gabe raises an eyebrow quizzically.

"Winchester?"

" _Win-fucking-chester._ " Castiel confirms in a growl.

"Well hey, at least now you can tell him you hate him to his face," Gabe says with easy good humor, never one to be fazed by his friend's mercurial tempers.

"Oh, no, that would be delightful, except that, you know, he's fucking _perfect_ so I can't hurt his precious little feelings. He's so... So... _Agreeable_."

"Something we know nobody could ever accuse you of." Castiel sticks his tongue out at Gabe, the silver ball of the piercing glinting in the harsh institutional cafeteria lights.

"Shut up. He literally just... takes everything like it's okay for me to give him shit, and it pisses me off!"

"Cassie, have you ever considered that maybe he isn't a nice guy just for the sake of, yanno, annoying you? That maybe, just _maybe,_ he's actually, I dunno, _a nice guy?_ " Gabriel points his lollipop at Castiel, and Castiel wonders absently where the hell he got that from in the last five seconds.

"Nobody is _that_ nice without an agenda, Gabriel," he grumbles.

"Just because you can't be doesn't mean nobody can," Gabe says without malice, and Castiel shrugs in agreement, unable to deny his friend's observation.

The bell rings, and how Castiel hates that damn bell, and they all return to their classrooms, chattering and grumbling. The school day seems to fly by, and before Castiel knows it he is sitting on the stone wall by the parking lot, waiting for Dean.

 _'Why the fuck am I even waiting? I should just leave. I don't want to deal with this, let him come find me if he's so bothered.'_ He doesn't act on his thoughts, though, even though he knows he should, and he's finished two cigarettes before Dean comes running out of the building, panting and red-faced.

"Sorry I'm late! The squad kept me late asking questions about the new routine and I totally lost track of time. I'm surprised you waited." For all that he is in disgustingly good shape, Dean looks like he ran full tilt all the way from the gym on the other side of the campus to the parking lot, even though he apparently thought Castiel wouldn't wait. Castiel shrugs and hops down off the wall, shouldering his backpack and waiting for Dean to catch his breath.

"Alright, I'm good," he says finally, straightening up and stretching languidly, "let's go."

After a quick discussion while they walk to Dean's car, they decide to spend some time studying at Castiel's place, since Dean's brother is home and might decide to interrupt them if he was bored. Once there, Castiel sets them up in the dining room and even offers Dean a soda, since he takes his responsibilities as a host seriously, even if he _is_ hosting his mortal enemy.' _Old habits die hard,'_ he thinks sourly, faint memories of his mother teaching him proper etiquette as a child darkening his mood even further.

It appears that Dean hasn't been idle during the school day, and he has drawn up a rough study guide for Castiel to work from - with convenient blocks of time during their study sessions blacked out. When questioned, Dean leans back in his chair and smiles.

"I figure if your ink is so big it might take more than one trip to the parlor, so I blocked out a bunch of slots we can use - if you work hard and show improvement. And if it doesn't take that long, we can always use that time for other things instead. It's healthy to have a break now and again anyway, it's up to you to determine whether we go tattooing, or nowhere at all."

They spend the rest of the evening hashing out particulars about the study guide, and then Dean goes through the work they did that morning. After setting him a task that Castiel personally feels is patronizingly easy, Dean takes off with a smile and a wave. Closing the door behind him, Castiel pulls his cigarettes from his pocket and puts one to his lips, lighting it and shaking his head.

"Who'd have thought I'd have a civil conversation with Winchester, and would only want to kill him a _couple_ of times," he mutters as he clears his schoolwork from the table and pads upstairs. Flopping down on his bed, he waves his hand through the haze of smoke drifting up from his cigarette, and wonders what his life is coming to.

  


Three days later, and Dean approaches Castiel in the cafeteria, right in front of everyone. Today Castiel's hair is mint green--partly a byproduct of washing out the blue dye--and he's wearing a hoodie he picked up in a hippie store that is made from stripes of fabric sewn together in a rainbow from red at the top in the hood to a deep violet down by his waistband. His black jeans and chains are gone, and instead he's wearing a pair of navy checked skinny jeans that hug his figure tightly and only _marginally_ contrast the garishness of the hoodie. Dean is his usual mainstream self, in a pair of comfortable jeans and an Abercrombie and Fitch t-shirt under his varsity jacket. He looks like a model, and Castiel would tell him so, if he didn't hate his guts.

"What do you want?" He says instead, glancing over to where Dean's usual crowd are staring in disbelief at their Glorious Leader approaching the school's social pariah.

"I just wanted to check that you still had this afternoon off," Dean says, completely oblivious to the judgemental stares of his squad mates and apparently immune to Castiel's frosty gaze.

"Unfortunately for me, I do, which I take it means you have something planned that was not in the study guide." Castiel keeps his tone even, if a little bored. He would ordinarily blow the guy off, but his grades _have_ improved even in just a couple of days, and he figures he might as well let the uptick continue for a week or so more before he really lays it on Dean and gets him to give it up.

"Yeah, so I'll meet you by the car after lunch okay? Don't be late!"

Gabriel and Castiel stare after him as he waves and heads over to his own posse, who drag him down to the table and start asking him questions in hushed whispers with regular glances over to Castiel.

"That looked awkwardly like a date," Gabe teases him as they return to their own lunches. Castiel picks at his own listlessly after glaring hard at Gabe, not even dignifying his ridiculous notion with a response, which is how Gabe knows he's _really_ needled his friend.

"Perk up, you get to spend your afternoon off doing something more interesting than studying, and nobody can bitch at you for being off-campus during your free periods, because the Principal assigned Dean to you, which means whatever Dean says is good for your education goes, right?" He nudges his friend playfully and Castiel looks over at him with a small frown.

"You can't shine shit, Gabe," he chuckles, and Gabe knows he's forgiven.

  


"You're gonna love this," Dean grins as they get into the Impala, buckling in as the engine roars to life.

"I doubt it," Castiel shoots back, but it's half-hearted at best. He really is glad to be done with school for the week, even though he knows his weekend will most likely be spent with yet more studying.

They drive across town, and Castiel starts to wonder where the hell he's being taken, since this is _not_ a good area, and he's surprised Mr. Model Student even knows the _way_ to the wrong side of the tracks, let alone how to navigate his monstrous beast of a car through the narrow streets with the practiced ease of a local. They finally pull up outside what looks to be a dive bar, with a peeling sign above it proclaiming it to be "Harvelle's." Castiel gives Dean an odd look as they get out of the car.

"Uh, Dean, I don't know if you've noticed, but neither of us is 21. Don't get me wrong, _I_ have a fake ID if we get carded, but you're wearing your school jacket."

"Relax, Cas, we won't get carded," Dean speaks so soothingly that Castiel lets the shortened version of his name slide this time, his curiosity outweighing his irritation for the time being.

They push through the doors and into what Castiel correctly deduced was a dive bar, judging from the old guys nursing warming beers, and the stickiness of the floors. Dean seems strangely at home, and stranger still like he... _belongs_ here.

"Hey, Ellen!" Dean shouts, and a woman's head pops up from behind the bar, her dark hair almost indistinguishable from the dark wood of the counter top.

"Well hey there! What brings you here on a school day?" Ellen's face lights up when she sees Dean, but quickly turns suspicious. "You're not playing hookey are you? I thought I tanned that outta you in middle school."

"No, ma'am, I'm not playing hookey. We've got free periods all afternoon and Mr Gardiner said we could go off campus." Dean looks positively bashful under Ellen's scrutiny, and Castiel almost feels sorry for him.

"Well good. Tell Josh I said hi next time you see him, and that he's missed on Quiz night, okay?" With a nod, Ellen retreats back down under the bar. "You boys go on and do whatever you came to do, unless you wanna help out. These shelves ain't gonna clean themselves."

Dean shook his head with a fond look and quickly ushered Castiel past the bar and down a narrow corridor in the back, halting outside a room with a sign on the door that declares boldly "DR BADASS IS" and a little hanging sign flipped to say "IN." He knocks loudly, clearly hoping to be heard over the music blaring from within; a song Castiel recognizes but doesn't care for. The music stops, and seconds later the door swings open and a guy pokes his head out.

"What? Oh, it's you, hold on," the guy says, then ducks back inside and shuts the door in their faces. Castiel arches an eyebrow at Dean, who just smiles faintly.

"He's gotta put on some pants," he says, somehow all the explanation Castiel needs, and yet none of it.

After some bumping and clattering, the door swings open again, and the man steps back to grant them entry.

"Welcome to my domain, me casa es su casa," he says, and Dean walks into the room with his hands shoved into his pockets, followed by a reluctant Castiel. If he'd known they were coming to this part of town he probably wouldn't have worn the rainbow hoodie... and this guy looked kinda like the sort who might take umbrage to the sudden injection of color into his life.

"Castiel, Ash, Ash, Castiel," Dean introduces them, looking more relaxed here than Castiel had ever seen him.

"Dean, man, you never come by anymore, why is that?" Ash asks him, flopping down onto the bed in the corner.

As Castiel's eyes slowly adjust to the dim light, he turns around in the room to take in the details and is surprised to find it looks at least clean, albeit a little untidy. There is an overflowing trash can in a corner filled with beer cans, but otherwise the room is devoid of dirt and grime. It's a complete contrast to Gabe's room, for example, who doesn't seem to comprehend the concept of taking his dirty plates back downstairs and throwing his candy wrappers in the trash until his mom comes in and yells at him. There's a bookcase next to the bed with a lamp on top of it, and a desk covered in computer equipment on the other side of it. The window above the bookcase is covered by a blackout blind, and there's another bookcase or table at the end of the bed. The walls are covered in posters and the odd t-shirt pinned up over or between them, and Castiel half wishes for a bit more light so he could figure out what this mulletted friend of Dean's is into.

Dean drops down on the bed next to Ash, cozying up closer to him than Castiel would have thought the Alpha Male Centrefold Pinup guy would with another guy, regardless of his status as a cheerleader.

"You know why, Ash. Between school, cheer, and work I don't have time to hang out anymore." Dean looks positively dejected, and Castiel leans against a desk and rolls his eyes.

"Oh _please_ don't tell me you brought me here to have a sob session, I'd rather study." He sneers as he speaks, and both guys look over at him, Dean with patient tolerance and Ash with outright hostility.

"Wow, he's got an attitude on 'im," he says, "thought you had better taste, my man."

Dean tuts and rolls his eyes, sitting up and hanging his legs off the edge of the bed. "Castiel is another student, I'm tutoring him. The reason we came here," he gives Castiel a significant look, "is because Cas is an ink fan and I thought you could show him some of your work."

That gets Castiel's attention, and he suddenly feels annoyed with himself for behaving like an asshole in front of Dean's friend, who might be a tattoo artist of talent.

"Seriously? You want me to show this asshole my tats? Go fuck yourself Winchester, you ain't that pretty," Ash grumbles, not moving from his prone position. Dean punches his knee lightly and chuckles.

"Shut up, just get the folio."

"Urgh, fine." Ash heaves himself up from the bed and grabs a ring binder from the bookcase, tossing it at Castiel without warning and causing the guy to nearly drop it. Castiel opens the book reverently, knowing that the art within will have been put together painstakingly and not wanting to cause any damage.

"Ash did my tat, though you won't find it in there," Dean confesses, and Castiel suddenly feels more interested in the book than before, his curiosity burning with a desire to know what Dean had liked so much that he wanted it permanently etched into his skin.

He crosses the room to the lamp and turns each page carefully in the dim light, looking at the pages with a critical eye and finding them more than satisfactory.

"These are incredible," he can't even keep the awe from his voice, and Ash visibly preens under the praise.

"Thought you'd like 'em. Figured you deserved a treat after the shit you've gone through this week. I know it can't be easy having all this dropped on ya." He waves a hand airily and leans back against Ash's legs, now propped up to give him something to rest his hands on while he rolls a smoke.

"Thank you," Castiel says sincerely, trying to hang on to his former dislike of the preppy cheerleader, but finding it harder and harder to do so.

When he has thoroughly pored over each and every page he closes the folio and slides it back into its place on the bookshelf before turning back to where Dean and Ash are passing the pungent smelling roll up back and forth.

"Are you... smoking dope?" He asks almost incredulously, completely shocked at this side of Dean Winchester he never knew existed.

"It's Friday, man, relax," Dean seems completely at ease, his head lolling back on Ash's knees while the scruffy stoner chuckles quietly. "I can put it out if it makes you uncomfortable," the words are said with a dreamy quality, but Castiel knows that if he asked Dean would snuff the joint immediately.

"Nah," he answers, folding himself up and leaning back against the bookcase beside the bed. Dean throws him a pillow and he gratefully sits on it, glad to not have to sit on the hard floor of the old building. "I don't mind, as long as you pass it this way now and then."

Dean hands over the joint and ashtray wordlessly before he lets his head drop back onto Ash's knees again, his legs dangling off the edge of the bed.

It doesn't take long for Castiel to start feeling the effects of the drug, a faint tinnitus ringing in his ears as he floats along on the high. They pass it around until it's little more than a roll of cardboard in thin paper and then Ash stubs it out and drops the ashtray to the floor. They don't speak much except to crack the occasional joke, which seems terribly funny to all three of them, and soon Castiel finds himself slumped against Dean's leg enjoying the familiar feeling of weightlessness he associates with good weed. There's a hand in his hair and he isn't sure if it's Dean's or Ash's, but he can't bring himself to care as long as they don't stop the gentle motion of their fingers.

They sit there quietly for hours--or minutes, Castiel isn't sure--and all too soon Dean is groaning and heaving himself upright with a bleary expression.

"We should probably hit the road," he mumbles, and Castiel huffs, not wanting to move from his comfortable spot. "We can grab some of Ellen's burgers to go," Dean offers, and Castiel's stomach grumbles in assent while his stoned brain tries to catch up. He hauls himself to his feet and gives Ash a grateful nod before he stretches his limbs gracefully and hears the bones crack from their long period of immobility.

"C'mere," Ash says to Dean, and pulls the younger guy to him, curling a skinny arm around Dean's waist and up his back, pushing aside his jacket and t-shirt to spread gentle fingers across his skin. He catches Dean's lips in a deep kiss, and Castiel is torn between embarrassment and fascination, both wanting to avert his eyes and wanting to drink in this heretofore unknown side of Dean. The kiss ends and Dean gets up, stretching himself as Castiel did and sighing in contentment.

"That's for the spliff," Ash says languidly, "you can pay me back for the rest another time."

He lapses into silence and Dean looks at him fondly before ushering Castiel from the room and back through the bar. Judging from the number of patrons who now populate it, Castiel assumes it has been several hours since they arrived, and he wonders how one joint split three ways can make him drift so much he doesn't realize how late it's gotten. Dean orders two cheeseburgers to go, and they wait patiently for Ellen to bring them out to them in a paper bag.

"You good to drive, Dean?" She asks, matronly concern etched on her face.

"You know I wouldn't drive if I wasn't," he answers with a smile, and Castiel wonders how often Dean comes here to get stoned with Ash. Clearly often, if he knows the proprietor so well.

They head back to the car and devour their burgers in minutes, Dean driving one handed and blessing every deity he can name for automatic transmission through mouthfuls of bread and meat and cheese. Once they're finished and the trash collected in the bag--Dean really is particular about his vehicle--they drive silently for a while, still trying to keep the pleasant buzz going.

"So, uh, I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention some of that at school," Dean says eventually, looking sheepish.

"Which part?" Castiel counts off on his fingers. "The incredible tattoo artist friend, the dope, or the big gay kiss?" He's teasing, and it feels good to not be angry for once, especially when in Dean's presence.

"Uh, the last two. I've got a rep to maintain, and I'm pretty sure the joint alone is enough to get me kicked off the cheer squad, if not expelled altogether."

Castiel takes a moment to consider the trust that has been placed in him today. On Monday all he could do was think about how much he hates Dean Winchester, and now here he is privy to what he guesses are two of the guy's biggest secrets.

"I had no idea you were gay," he admits, drumming his fingers idly on the bench seat.

"I'm not," Dean answers with a chuckle and a roll of his eyes, "I'm bi. And it's not a big deal, I just worked hard to get past the shit you get for being a male cheerleader, and if the guys knew I liked, y'know, other guys as well as girls, they'd probably kick up a fuss. Sammy knows, and our foster parents, and that's all that really matters."

This is the first Castiel has heard of foster parents, and curiosity burns in him to ask what the deal is with that, but he controls the urge and nods curtly instead.

"Your secret's safe with me," he assures.

Dean visibly sags with relief, and blows out a lungful of air as if he'd been holding it waiting for Castiel's answer.

"Thanks man."

They lapse into silence again, but Castiel can tell something has shifted between them. Almost imperceptible, but definitely there. The silence is comfortable, the silence of two people who don't need to fill every void with unnecessary words rather than the silence of hatred and mistrust. Something flutters in Castiel's chest, and he realises with a start that he's _happy_. It takes him by surprise, and he stares out of the window with a frown, trying to force his less than sober brain to make sense of it all.

Dean drops him off outside his house and winds down the window to speak to him before he goes inside.

“I gotta work tomorrow and Sunday morning, but if you’re free Sunday afternoon I thought we could get started on some of that History stuff?” It’s phrased as a question, but Castiel knows that he can’t really decline.

“I’m free,” he answers, still troubled by his earlier thoughts, and half-heartedly waves Dean off down the street. He doesn’t slam the door when he comes in, and when he pulls a cigarette from the packet he stares at it for a long moment before putting it away again, unlit. Chuck watches his son from the doorway and smiles, pleased to see improvement in the boy’s mood.

  


Gabe comes over on Saturday and they spend the day goofing off in Castiel’s bedroom, listening to music and playing video games. Gabe whines about Castiel smoking and Castiel bitches at Gabe leaving candy wrappers all over the bed. As much as he wants to tell Gabriel about what happened on Friday, Castiel keeps his promise to Dean and doesn’t reveal what they got up to, instead growling about being forced to study on a Friday evening and giving Gabe such a thunderous look that his friend actually physically backs away, and drops the subject.

 _‘Maybe he’s not a complete asshole,’_ Castiel thinks later as he sits on his window ledge after Gabe has left and it’s starting to go dark. _‘Not completely anyway. Only mostly an asshole.’_

When Chuck calls him down for dinner, Castiel is quiet and thoughtful, with less of his usual snark - though he manages to muster up the enthusiasm to once again bemoan their lack of a second car and grumble about having to get a ride to school with Dean.

“I know you think I sit around the house all day pretending to work, Castiel,” Chuck says with a bemused expression, “but I’m actually an adult and I have responsibilities. Some of those require the use of a vehicle; just because I’m done before you get home doesn’t mean I don’t go out. If you want another car so much then you can get a job and save up for your own.”

Castiel stares at his father, agog. This is the first time in his life that Chuck has suggested he get a job - usually when he asks for something Chuck just tells him the money’s coming out of his trust fund, which he doesn’t have direct access to until he’s 21. That’s okay with Castiel, since as far as he’s concerned the drain on his funds is _future_ Castiel’s problem, and _present_ Castiel would rather have a PS4 and Comic Con tickets, thanks.

“Who the hell would hire me?” Castiel sounds angry, but underneath his anger he feels a little afraid; he’s spent so long on his journey of self-expression that he’s not sure many businesses would want to hire a guy with tattoo sleeves and enough piercings to ruin a metal detector party.

“You’ll figure something out,” Chuck is calmly confident, and Castiel bristles at his father.

“Thanks for the help, _dad_ ,” Castiel breaks out the D word to show Chuck how angry he is, and pushes away from the table, his dinner half eaten and abandoned as he storms up to his room in a temper.

  


He’s still in a foul mood the next day, and when Dean arrives just after noon Castiel seriously considers shutting the door in his face. It’s only the fact that Dean is, for once, not the source of his ire that he lets him inside. Chuck pokes his head out of the doorway to his study and, seeing him, Castiel abruptly switches direction from heading to the lounge to up the stairs, leading Dean to his room and away from his father, who he has decided he’s not currently speaking to.

“Sensing some tension there man,” Dean remarks as they enter Castiel’s room, and the shorter guy rounds on him, seething.

“This week has been one shitstorm after another,” he growls, his eyes boring into Dean’s, who stares back unblinkingly.

“I’m getting that feeling, yeah.” They stare each other down for another long moment, neither moving away despite them being uncomfortably close to one another, and neither blinking as the silent battle of wills raged.

Castiel breaks first.

He shoves Dean back against the door and the other guy’s breath leaves his lungs in a quiet _whuff_ before Castiel covers his mouth with his own.

Castiel kisses him. He kisses him. He kisses him hard, and desperate, and silently pleading.

Once he gets over the surprise, Dean loops his arms around Castiel’s waist and pulls him close, one hand sliding up to the base of his neck to tilt his head to a more comfortable angle. Castiel huffs through his nose, and then his hands are in Dean’s hair, combing through it and stroking the soft, sensitive skin behind his ears. Dean shudders at the touch and leans further forward, bending Castiel backwards a little and taking control of the kiss.

They break apart, panting slightly - not from exertion, but from the heady rush of lust and teenage hormones. Castiel swallows thickly and steps back, his heart racing and his skin tingling with excitement. It feels deliciously _wrong_ to be here, in his room, kissing the boy who not even a week ago he loathed with every fiber of his being. It almost makes his head spin, and he can’t stop himself from laughing. The quiet amusement becomes a full blown laugh and soon he’s clutching his sides and roaring with laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“C’mon man, my skills aren’t that bad,” Dean teases, leaning back against the door with his hands in the pockets of his ever-present jacket. His face has an attractive flush to it, highlighting the freckles across his nose, and Castiel has the urge to kiss him some more, just to keep the color in his cheeks.

“It’s not that,” Castiel wheezes, shaking his head, “just… I _hate_ you,” Dean’s face falls but Castiel waves a hand to stay his objection. “At least, I did. You were--are--everything I’m not, and it pisses me off. You're disgustingly nice, even though I've been a total ass since day one, and I just," he can't help the giggle that escapes him, "it's just too ridiculous."

Castiel falls down on the bed with a few more breathy chuckles, helpless in the face of the absurdity of the situation, and he hears Dean shift by the door, coming over to sit on the bed next to him.

"I had no idea you were gay," Dean teases, throwing Castiel's words from two days before back at him.

Castiel shrugs and shuffles a little to give Dean more space, preparing himself for full relaxation.

"Gender is irrelevant to me. Boy, girl, neither, both, I'm not concerned. People are people, and some people appeal to me and some don't, that's all."

"Do I appeal to you then?" Dean looks down at Castiel, a playful smirk on his face, and Castiel huffs at his boldness.

"Apparently so."

Dean leans down until his face is barely inches away from Castiel's, maintaining eye contact to give Castiel a chance to say no, shake his head, flinch away, _something_. When no rejection is forthcoming, he catches Castiel's lips with his own again, kissing him with a sweetness that makes Castiel's heart thrum in his chest. It's the polar opposite of their first kiss, without the desperate, angry emotions, and Castiel closes his eyes and gives in to the sensation.

Dean's lips are soft against his own, rough, chapped lips, and he smells faintly of cologne or antiperspirant. His jacket brushes against Castiel's hand as he leans over him and its softer than he would have expected. Dean lifts one hand and places it on the side of Castiel's face, his thumb skimming his cheekbone gently, and Castiel can feel callouses on the digits; how did he come to have such rough hands? But he is so, so gentle. When Dean finally pulls away Castiel gets a momentary urge to follow and drag him into another kiss, but lets Dean turn away and lean back on the bed on his elbows.

“If it helps, you appeal to me too,” Dean says quietly, and Castiel arches a pierced eyebrow at him.

“I find that hard to believe,” he laughs, not unkindly.

“Why?” Dean’s tone is serious, but he looks like he’s trying to be flippant, absently picking at a thread on his jacket.

Castiel can’t help but snort. “You mean _aside_ from the fact that we’re polar opposites? I mean just look at you. You’re smart, handsome, popular, you’re the cheer captain for goodness sake, and how many guys can manage that _and_ all the other things? And I’m just a spoiled rich brat with a rebellious streak a mile long challenging ‘the man,’” he makes air quotes with his fingers again, “just because I can get away with it. I’m not even _nice_ let alone… whatever it is _you_ are.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” Dean laughs loudly, “man, you have no idea. Jesus, nobody hates you more than you do, Cas,” Dean lets himself drop down so he’s on his back next to Castiel, their legs hanging off the side of the bed.

“You’re the kid who gave the new kid a flower in third grade because nobody else wanted to know the army brat orphan and you felt sorry for him. You took Meg Masters to the school dance in freshman year because her boyfriend had just ditched her for a college chick and you didn’t want her to have to miss out or go alone. You act like you don’t care what anyone thinks of you, but I don’t think you’re as heartless as you make yourself out to be.”

Castiel snorts and gets up, shaking his head.

“I’m exactly what I make myself out to be, I’m too shallow for that kind of subtle nuances. People change, Dean,” he grumbles, stalking over to his desk to pull out some workbooks. “Now, did you come here to study, or just make out?”

“I’d be down for making out,” Dean gives Castiel a playful grin, but the moment has gone and he hauls himself upright reluctantly to settle in for an afternoon of work.

  


Castiel’s heart thrums a staccato beat in his chest the following morning as he walks across the school grounds, groups of other kids walking hither and thither as they head to their classrooms for homeroom. He’s deliberately walked the long way around so he would come in through one of the side entrances, since Dean’s group usually hang around in front of the school until the first warning bell when, like good little suck-ups that they are, they all disperse to their classes. Coming this way, Castiel can slip in largely unnoticed and take his seat at the back of the classroom without running into Dean.

He isn’t sure how he feels about his continued association with the cheerleader. Part of him is afraid that Dean was using his assignment as Castiel’s tutor to play a horrible trick on him, and that Dean and his friends are even now giggling at the weekend’s events. A little voice in the back of his mind shouts that Dean’s far too nice to do anything like that, but Castiel knows all too well that sometimes the people who are nicest in public are often the cruellest behind closed doors.

Another part of him is afraid that Dean will take the kiss as an expression of interest, and start behaving romantically toward him, or act as though they’re already… something, rather than nothing.

A tiny part of him that he denies exists, even to himself, kind of hopes he does.

He manages to make it to lunch without bumping into Dean, and he heaves a sigh of relief as he sits down opposite Gabriel to pick at his lunch.

“Heavy weekend?” Gabe asks him, stealing fries from his plate. Castiel is too preoccupied to notice or care, so Gabe takes a few more.

“No, just... “ Castiel shrugs, not sure how to express his current inner turmoil without opening himself up to Gabe’s ridicule - or outing Dean, which he had expressly promised he wouldn’t do.

“Hey Cas,” a familiar voice makes him start, and he turns to see Dean standing at the end of the table, his backpack slung over one shoulder and his hand gripping the strap loosely, looking relaxed as they come.

Castiel’s brain helpfully supplies images and ghost sensations of those hands gently carding through his hair, and the feeling of Dean pressed against him as they kissed in his room, and his treacherous face flushes pink.

“Cassie, don’t get mad,” Gabriel mistakes the blush for anger, and Castiel thinks there might be a God after all, “all he said was hey.”

“Hay is for horses,” Castiel snarks, trying to will the color out of his cheeks so he can speak properly.

Dean laughs half-heartedly, shaking his head. “Listen, I unexpectedly got the night off work, I know it’s not in the study planner but are you free tonight?”

Castiel tuts and rolls his eyes at the other boy.

“Yes, I cleared my entire social life so that I could be at your behest whenever you required my presence, because I clearly have nothing better to do,” he growls, eyes blazing.

“Jesus Castiel, what the hell man?” Dean looks hurt, and Castiel feels immediately guilty, “fine, be that way if you want. I was gonna see if you wanted to swing by the tattoo parlor, but if you’re gonna act like a prick then you can walk.” Dean snaps and spins on his toe, stalking out of the cafeteria with an offended air.

“Wow. That was rude even for you,” Gabriel says blithely, focussing on his pudding cup with grave intensity, “but of course that’s none of my business.”

“Like I give a shit about poor Deanie Weenie’s precious hurt feelings,” Castiel snarls, “maybe he’ll leave me alone now, tell Gardiner to go fuck his assigned tutor bullshit.”

“Maybe he will,” Gabriel meets Castiel’s eyes and he looks annoyed, “and then they’ll expel you. I’ll lose my only friend, you’ll lose your trust fund, and for what? So you don’t have to spend a measly couple weeks dealing with a guy you hate for _absolutely no good reason_. Way to go Cassie, way to go.” He gets up and grabs his bag. “See you in class.”

Castiel is left alone at the table feeling very small, and very petty. Nobody is looking his way, so he decides to skip the rest of the day and leaves the cafeteria, lighting his cigarette with shaking hands when he reaches the outside of the building.

He walks through the parking lot and as he passes Dean’s car he gets the urge to deface it somehow, just to get the last word in his argument with Dean, and he stops for a moment, fingering the keys in his jeans pocket. It would be so easy to just leave a deep scratch in the Impala’s shiny black coat. He stands there, smoking and staring, before finally moving on through the parked cars. It’s not the car’s fault he’s pissed, it’s not even Dean’s fault really, and he knows that Dean would be thoroughly devastated if any harm came to his father’s car.

Walking away from the car, Castiel feels like he’s left something behind, some part of himself, and his feet trudge onwards almost of their own accord. He’s far too lost in his own thoughts to pay attention to where he’s going, and it’s with a start that he realises he’s walked all the way to the park. The small, man-made lake around which benches are set with a jogging path winding its way through the fabricated slice of nature brings back fond memories of playing here as a child with his father and schoolfriends, before he started on his journey of self-expression and pushed almost everyone away.

He climbs up onto a picnic bench and sits on the table, resting his boots on the bench as he stares out across the water. The green in his hair has almost faded out completely, leaving it looking almost blonde except for where his natural dark brown shows at his roots, and the thin spikes waver in the light breeze like young shoots reaching desperately up for sunlight. He’s gone back to his black jeans and a green graphic tee Gabe bought him on vacation once proclaiming “My Friend Went To The Mystery Spot And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt.”

Castiel sits there for hours, long enough to accumulate a small heap of cigarette ends stubbed out on the table next to him and he’s starting to run short on smokes, but he figures he should probably quit soon anyway, since he’s probably going to get kicked out of school and have to get a job, and cigarettes are a luxury he may soon be unable to afford. The gurgling rumble of Dean’s car pulling up in the parking lot and the door creaking open and shut makes his heart sink, and he desperately hopes Dean heads in the opposite direction so he can make his escape without running into the source of his tumultuous emotional upheaval.

No such luck.

Footsteps approach and out of the corner of his eye Castiel sees Dean climb up onto the bench next to him, sitting beside him in silence. It’s not the comfortable silence of the other day, but neither does it feel tense, like some small spark might set them raging. It’s… charged, like that moment before a tornado touches land and you don’t know whether it’s going to head your way or just disappear, as if they both want to say something but neither wants to be the first to speak.

Finally, Dean sighs and rubs his face with both hands before leaning forward and lacing his fingers together, examining his hands as if for microscopic specks of dirt.

“What did I do to you, man, that makes you hate me so much?” He speaks quietly, tentatively, and Castiel’s heart aches at how wounded he sounds.

“I don’t know,” Castiel is honest in his answer, but he wishes he could offer something more to Dean.

“Then _why_?”

Castiel huffs softly, frustrated at his inability to articulate himself.

“I think… Well, I was always a bright kid. Top of the class, tried to do everything I could to make sure I worked hard. My dad’s books took off before I was born, so we always had money, and I was pretty generous with my allowance. Everyone liked me. And then suddenly they didn’t.” Castiel is frowning, digging through his memories to try and work out when he first started to feel resentment towards Dean. “Somehow that seemed to coincide with when you suddenly got popular. Like everyone just kind of abandoned me and flocked to you like shallow little moths to a brighter flame. And I… Well I guess I was just. Angry. And. I was pissed at you, because only Gabriel stuck by me. Everyone else was just… ‘Oh Dean! You’re so handsome!’” Castiel puts on an affected high voice and twists his face into a pantomime mockery of simpering worshipfulness. “‘You’re so good at everything! You’re so wonderful!’ Truth is Dean, I had to fight--or pay--for everything I got, and you still took it all away from me with just a smile. I’m jealous--envious--of you, Dean, plain and simple.”

They fall into silence again, Dean mulling over everything Castiel has just told him. Castiel lights another cigarette and the wispy smoke gets caught by the breeze and floats out across the lake.

“When I was in second grade,” Dean starts, “Sam and I were in a foster home. My mom died in a house fire when I was four, and my dad got killed a few years later in a crash. Totalled the Impala. We thought we were gonna get bounced around the system for years, but a couple came along and for some reason they wanted to take us both. We moved from Kansas to here, and even though I missed most of second grade, I started school with all the other third graders.

"I was really lonely, 'cause I didn't know anyone at all and nobody cared about the new kid so I just kinda hung out by myself most of the time. We came here on a school trip once, and I kinda come back here now when I need space to think, and I was sitting on the grass over there on my own when this little boy came over to me and gave me a flower. He said I looked sad and he thought a pretty flower might cheer me up. My foster mom, Jody, got a job in another town not long after, and we had to move about halfway through the year. She almost didn't take it 'cause she didn't want to pull me outta school, but in the end we went. I didn't come back here until Freshman year, but I never forgot that kid." Dean takes a deep breath and swallows hard. "Castiel, you probably don't remember giving me that flower, but it was a little act of kindness for a scared, sad, lonely kid and it kind of gave me the confidence to deal with moving again and changing schools. I tried to act kind to other people too, the way you had to me, cause I knew what it felt like to be on the other end of it. Then I came back and you just glared daggers at me the whole time, and I didn't know what to say to you." Dean blows out a big breath in a sigh and shakes his head. "I'm sorry people are shallow assholes, dude, if I'd known I would have made more of an effort to come talk to you."

Castiel's heart is beating hard in his chest, the memory of that day by the lake coming back to him in a rush. He had no idea that kid was the guy he had spent the last few years detesting, and an ache started in his chest at the thought of how different things could have been if he hadn't been so stupidly envious of Dean. And it _was_ stupid, he could see now. His grudge was formed from sheer petty childishness. Dean truly is a better person than him, working to make things better for the people in his life instead of begrudging them whatever good fortunes they might be blessed with. Castiel stares down at his hands, his face flaming red with shame. He has no idea what to say to Dean, where to begin to apologize for what he’s done; sorry seems so disingenuous, so inadequate.

“Dean…” His mouth flaps like a fish out of water, his brain usually so capable of supplying him with a ready stream of vocabulary notably absent, the treacherous thing.

“Cas you don’t have to say anything,” Dean says quietly, shaking his head, “you’re… not really that different to what I remember, not deep down anyway. You seem to have this prickly outer shell, and I get why that is now. If all my friends had abandoned me like that I’d probably be that way too, it’s hard to trust people again after something like that. And I’m not exactly the way I portray myself at school either, as I guess you figured out at Harvelle’s. So, can we just… start over?” He hops down off the bench and turns to face Castiel, a shy smile on his face.

“Hi, I’m Dean, nice to meet you,” he offers his hand, and Castiel takes it, unable to stop a wry chuckle from escaping his lips.

“You’re such a dork,” he mumbles. “I’m Castiel,” he says, louder, “but you… can call me Cas.”

Dean’s face breaks open into a wide grin as he takes Castiel’s hand and shakes it firmly.

“It’s a pleasure, Cas,” he beams, and Castiel looks away, suddenly shy. His hand feels warm and clammy, while Dean’s feels cool and smooth, and how had he never noticed the freckles across his nose before? Despite being outdoors, he feels suddenly stifled, and that isn’t helped when Dean takes another step forward, his knees resting against the bench between Castiel’s feet. Castiel’s heart is doing that staccato beat again and he gulps, wishing his mouth wasn’t so dry as Dean leans forward. A small part of him wants to lean back, but the larger part takes over and he leans forward as well, both of them hesitating for just a second before closing the gap between their lips.

Why did they wait so long to do this? Why was Castiel even angry at Dean before? Why were there moments in his life when his lips weren’t attached to Dean’s? Castiel’s hands scrabble at the bench for a second before Dean grabs them and place them on his shoulders, placing his own on Castiel’s waist since he is still higher up. They kiss for a long moment, but eventually break apart at the sound of voices approaching. To Castiel’s surprise, Dean doesn’t step back out of his embrace, but instead rests his forehead on Castiel’s arm and squeezes his waist gently. The people pass without incident, Castiel watching them from the corner of his eye as they round the corner.

“I thought you weren’t out?” The question is asked quietly, not wanting to draw attention to themselves, and not wanting to spook Dean into letting him go just yet.

“I’ve had a crush on you since third grade and you expect me to just pretend everything’s normal?” Dean sounds amused. “I’m not sure exactly what _this_ is, at least from your side, but I was kind of hoping you might like to do some more of that,” he leans back now and winks flirtatiously, making Castiel pinken again and look away.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea,” he answers quietly, and Dean leans in to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“We can define it later, but for now I think we should just get outta here.”

Pulling away reluctantly, Dean holds his hand out for Castiel to take as he jumps down from the bench. Pulling his cigarette packet from his pocket, Castiel opens it and frowns at the three smokes left inside, then shrugs and sweeps his small pile of butts into it before crumpling it and tossing it into the nearby trash can. He tries to avoid Dean’s significant look, but squeezes his hand in wordless acknowledgement.

It’s weird, and more than a little surreal, for him to be walking through the park back towards Dean’s car, hand in hand with the man himself, feeling lightheaded and giddy and with his lips tingling from kissing… He pinches himself and flinches; nope, he’s certainly not dreaming. Dean raises his eyebrow and Castiel just smiles back and shakes his head. He doesn’t know where this is headed, but wherever that is… he likes the direction.

  


Dean picks him up the following morning, and Castiel leans over as he jumps in the car to give his boyfriend a hello kiss. Dean looks surprised but not displeased, and revs the engine maybe a little bit more than he needs to as they pull away from the sidewalk. Pulling into the parking lot at school not long later, he suddenly begins to look a little nervous, and Castiel covers his hand with his own.

“You don’t have to tell them, we can just pretend we’re friends now. We talked it out, maybe exchanged a few blows, and now can at least respect one another to socialize like civilized human beings.” As Castiel speaks Dean is shaking his head vehemently.

“No. Any of my friends who can’t deal with this weren’t worth my time in the first place. I want to Cas, I really do, I’m just… a bit nervous. That’s all. But. I’ve got you,” Dean’s eyes sparkle with happiness as he looks into Castiel’s, “and that’s all I need to give me courage. C’mon.”

They get out of the car and Dean circles around, holding out a trembling hand for Castiel to take before they approach his group, Castiel just as reluctantly as Dean. He doesn’t care in the least what they think of him, at least in terms of his sexuality, but these people have been his enemies almost as long as they were his friends, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little intimidated by them.

“Finally got up the nerve, eh Winchester?” Jo Harvelle - Castiel realizes belatedly that this must be Ellen’s daughter - teases Dean and punches him lightly on the shoulder. “It’s about time.”

And just like that everything’s okay. Dean isn’t popular for silly, shallow reasons, but because he’s a genuine, great guy, and he’s surrounded himself with people who share similar traits. They accept Castiel into their fold - and Gabriel soon after, once he stops being mad at Castiel for the ridiculously fast 180 he did on his feelings for Dean - as one of their own, and the two former outcasts become bright and happy again. Castiel’s grades soar as Dean finds new and… _interesting_ ways to motivate him, and his heart soars with them, every inch of his body filling with love for the boy he once hated.

The only person not entirely happy with the arrangement is Ash, but only because he’s lost his gorgeous cheerleader booty call, but he forgives them quickly and Castiel becomes a regular feature in his gaming-slash-smoking sessions with Dean.

He finally learns the location and meaning behind Dean’s tattoo, and worships it reverently with his lips, while Dean lavishes the same attention on every one of his own tattoos, except the full back work, which takes a little time to heal after their now-regular jaunts to the artist.

Dean has Ash design a small piece depicting the angel Cassiel, after whom Castiel is named, and Castiel - with Dean’s permission - gets the anti-possession mark he bears tattooed just beneath the Enochian spell on his ribs.

‘ _There he is, Dean Winchester, with his dashing good looks and his charm,’_ Castiel thinks proudly, as Dean mounts the stage to give his Valedictorian speech, _‘I’m so lucky, he’s all mine.’_

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can find me [on Tumblr!](http://faeryn.tumblr.com)
> 
> My internet is down currently (as of July 1 2015) so if I don't answer messages or mentions that's why! But I am reading everything on my phone <3


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